One Wrathful Rose
by AllHallowsTheLess
Summary: When Adrian leaves unannounced for a long period of time, neglecting to speak to Rose, his girlfriend, through the duration of it, what will happen when she is finally sucked into a Spirit Dream? Radrian. No smut, because I can't do that. I have no idea how to rate things, so yeah. T, I guess.


**A/N: Somewhere in the back of my head I know, ****_I know_****, that I have other fics I should be working on. Tell that to the stubborn writer in me, tell her not to start new stories while neglecting old ones. I'm not to blame.**

**Anyway. This is a RosexAdrian fic. I should warn you that I'm a Romitri shipper - though I still love love Radrian, don't get me wrong - and was is a favor to a friend.**

**I do not own Rose, Adrian, or Spirit Dreams.**

The darkness surrounds me. I'm in a dream, this much I know, but I didn't pick the location; I'd never pick somewhere I was defenseless. I blink my eyes in the darkness, willing my surroundings to shape into recognizable objects, but relief from the dark doesn't come. Shit. I really hate not being able to see. It makes me feel more helpless than I ever remember being, and I can't afford to be helpless. I hear a footstep maybe two, three feet behind me, and my mind goes into auto-gear; if I ready myself, I can take whoever it is down in a few seconds. The footstep echo's. The room I'm in is big, bigger than I thought.

A hand runs along my arm, raising goose bumps, and I do what my gut tells me: I take the hand and twist it until I hear a shout of pain. "Rose! What the FUCK? LET. GO." Adrian. I release him and the lights go on. He's sitting on the ground rubbing his wrist, hair ruffled from my attack. He smiles up at me.

I find my voice somewhere. "You scared the shit out of me." I glare, making my statement what I hope is a warning.

He grins at me, white teeth flashing like stars. "Good job, Little Dhampir. You brought me to my knees. But you could've done that so much more easily," he says, ignoring my comment. I barely hear him. My heart races at the sound of his voice. I lean my body into his chest and kiss him chastely.

I pull away, smiling when he tries to kiss me again and turning my head so his lips attack my cheek. The smile vanishes when I remember why we're here. "Jesus Christ, Adrian. Where have you been? You—God damn it! Is that blood?" It strikes me as odd that he wouldn't fix himself before the dream, make himself appear as he would if he were fine, which he so obviously is not. I search his eyes with mine frantically, looking for a hidden explanation that isn't there. "What the fuck did you get yourself into?"

He only chuckles, kissing me again. Like that'll erase the fact that he's been gone for 3 months, make me forget that he hadn't even contacted me throughout the duration of his little trip. Adrian pulls me down on top of his lap, his hands finding the hem of the tank top I'd worn to bed. His fingers graze the bare skin of my back, hot skin on cool skin, a sensual caress. I wonder, faintly, why he'd be cool in a dream; it is a neutral place. That could also raise the question, I suppose, of why I am so goddamn hot.

Adrian's wandering hands find their way further up my back, under my tank, to my shoulder blades. His lips nip at my neck, the flesh there, I'm sure, becoming flushed and tender under his intimate touch, installing a new appreciation for my boyfriends hands in me. He works his way up from my neck, my jaw, my earlobe, my chin, before hovering slowly before me. He opens his eyes, green eyes blazing as he searches mine for something, though I'm not sure what. He watches me for a while before I become uncomfortable enough to smash my lips against his in a last-ditch effort to distract his hungry gaze.

And suddenly roaming, pleasurably chilly hands are the air, everywhere and nowhere and omnipresent at the same time, moving along my sides and legs and head and back. I try to say something, but my lips are either busy being used by Adrian's or busy sending out the invitation of his name. I try to grasp my thoughts but my heart is beating too fast; thinking is a lost cause to me now.

I forget the fury that I had set aside for him to be subject to, the wrath I'd planned to unleash on him. I don't even care about the fact that he left for so long any more. Adrian is here now, right? That's all that matters. Why should I be mad about something that's in the past? We spend too much time worry about things that are out of our hands, anyway, I think.

"I missed you," I whisper, along with other things that are true, like "You're an asshole," or "When I can think straight, I'm going to kill you." But I forget about those things, too, those trivial little things that suffocate me as I breath in Adrian. All I can feel is Adrian. And that is really all that matters.


End file.
